I'm almost me again (She's almost you)

Chapter 15

"What's wrong?" Lisa asked, her tone anxious as worry flickered in her eyes.

"Why would you think there's anything wrong?" Jisoo nervously asked, giving Lisa a strained smile as they strolled along, side by side.

It was autumn, dead leaves blowing past, the trees painted red and orange, and the air in Busan had a bitterly cold edge to it, speaking of the cold that was yet to come. They were walking through Busan Park, hands buried in their pockets, scarves wound around their necks, enjoying the brisk air as it turned their cheeks pink.

They walked over a wide bridge crossing a steely grey lake, Jisoo's eyes trained on the young girl riding her bike a short way ahead. The wind rippled on the surface of the water and ducks splashed in the shallows, hidden amongst the reeds, while small silver fish darted by quickly.

"Because," Lisa slowly said, gently biting her bottom lip as she tried to find the words, "you've barely said a word to me all day."

Reaching out for her arm, Lisa pulled Jisoo to a gentle stop, turning her to face her. Cheeks pinking slightly, Lisa let out a shaky laugh, finding herself shy as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"If it's about the other night..."

Jisoo exhaled softly, a troubled look in her hazel eyes as she stared out at the water, before turning to check on her daughter.

"Ella! Don't go too far."

"Jisoo?"

With a small smile, Jisoo reached out and gave Lisa's arm a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry about it. Just forget it ever happened."

-----

The rest of the week passed by quickly, with stacks of thick planks of rich cedarwood and enough tools to outfit a carpentry workshop delivered to the cottage, and Lisa finally got started on trying to repair her boat. Holed up in the boathouse, a few propane lamps illuminating the place, Lisa managed to get the cracked and rusted metal coating off the bow of the boat, a rain of rusted flakes of iron cascading to the ground as rotting wood splintered beneath the crowbar and heavy hammer that made the metal ring like a dull bell.

It was tiring work and the progress was slow, but eventually, she was left with a near bare skeleton of a hull, the frame of it still quite sturdy and solid, even if the wood was damp and rotting away in small patches. Lisa wasn't too concerned about that; she only needed the boat long enough to make it to Paris. It didn't matter if it fell apart afterwards.

She got started on drilling the heavy planks of wood into place, slowly bending them until they curved near the bow and stern and ran along the rest of the narrowboat. It took her over an hour to find just one row of planks, the smell of sawdust mingling with the musty smell from the handsaw she'd used to trim the ends off the planks. The following few days leading up to Sunday were full of contemplative walks, hot weather, hours spent cooped up in the gloomy boathouse, and then more hours spent cooped up in her bedroom, sprucing up Jennie's antiques.

And in between, was Jennie. Always hovering around, as if was her home, with a cup of coffee ready for Lisa, a freshly baked croissant or stack of toast with marmalade plated up, and she stopped by the boathouse intermittently, perching on a stool as she watched Lisa work and asked questions. Lisa patiently answered them all in between sawing and drilling and hammering.